


you got me feeling something

by manycoloureddays



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Dancing, M/M, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), gratuitous Addams Family references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26649574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manycoloureddays/pseuds/manycoloureddays
Summary: “Think of it like dancing. You’ve seen those dancing competitions on television when you’ve been over at the Denbroughs’? Think of it like that, shadowing and supporting, never doing it for your partner, just making sure you’re never too far away that you can’t help if they need it.”_______________or, a handful of times Eddie and Richie find themselves dancing.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 28
Kudos: 112





	you got me feeling something

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beverlymarshian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beverlymarshian/gifts).



> a very happy birthday to lynne beverlymarshian, one of the most talented writers and big hearted people i've had the pleasure of knowing, i hope you're day is full of love and gratuitous dance metaphors
> 
> if you haven't read her work, i don't know what you're doing here, go! run! quick!
> 
> title from charlie by mallrat

When he’s six years old and only half a head shorter than Richie, but a whole head shorter than Bill and Stan, Eddie discovers he doesn’t have to be tall to keep up. 

“He’s faster than all of us. Faster than Billy even, and he’s prob-ly the fastest in our grade.” Richie says all of this rapid fire, like if he doesn’t get all his words out first Eddie might beat him to it. Eddie doesn’t blame him, he is pretty excited to tell people just how fast he is.

“I would be the fastest in our grade if I was allowed to run in school.” 

Richie nods emphatically. 

“You shoulda seen him, Ma,” he shouts, buzzing around the kitchen, excess energy sparking off him and making Eddie want to run real fast all over again. 

He can’t right now though, because Mrs Tozier Call Me Maggie has given him stern orders not to leave the chair until she’s done cleaning up the muddy, bloody mess he’s made of his knee. She has her back turned while she looks in one of the high up cupboards for a band aid big enough to cover the graze, so he takes the opportunity to stick his finger right in the centre of the gooiest bit. It makes him hiss, but then he giggles. He looks up to catch Richie watching him with wide eyes and a horrified, awestruck expression, and giggles some more. 

Mrs Tozier turns back around and raises her eyebrows at him. “Eddie, sweetheart, what did I say about poking it?” 

She says it in a way that makes him certain he’s not in trouble, so he just keeps grinning, eyes darting to meet Richie’s whenever he thinks he can get away with it. 

“Sorry, Mrs Tozier.” He swings his legs back and forth, the right one twinging every time he straightens his leg and lets the skin go all bunchy. 

She hums, crouches down in front of him and holds a bandage over his knee. “That’ll do the trick. Sorry it’s not one of the dinosaur ones, but they don’t make them big enough for this kind of battle scar.” 

Eddie shrugs. Skin colour is best if he wants to hide it from his own mother when he goes home tomorrow. He doesn’t mind getting hurt so much when Mrs Tozier’s the one patching him up. She says things like ‘battle scar’ with a smile, when he knows without having to conjure up a particular memory that Mom would be crying right now. 

“Battle scar?” Richie says. “More like avi. Um, avi-whatsit. With the planes, like Dad likes?”

“Aviation?” Mrs Tozier smoothes the bandage over Eddie’s knee and offers him a cookie in one practiced movement. 

“Yeah! Aviation accident.”

Eddie likes the sound of that. Aviation. Like the planes they watch fly over Derry from Richie’s back porch. Aviation, like flying. Eddie thinks he wouldn’t mind getting bumps and bruises if it meant a little adventure. 

“Alright,” Mrs Tozier says, big warm smile just like Richie’s stretching across her face. “That’s you all fixed up, Captain Kaspbrak. Let’s see you put some pressure on that war wound.”

She says it in the same Voice she and Mr Tozier use to narrate bedtime stories.

Eddie bites his lip and concentrates on putting his feet on the floor, watching her face to make sure he’s doing the right thing, putting the right amount of pressure on both. He feels a sharp fizzle-pop of pain as his leg straightens out properly for the first time since he sat down, but then he plants his feet firmly, not a wobble in sight. 

Mrs Tozier nods at him and he feels warm all over. 

“Richie, can you come here a moment?” The words are barely out of her mouth before Richie’s darting over, like he was just waiting for her permission. Eddie supposes he might have been, considering it took several  _ Richards _ earlier to get him to stop hovering so close she couldn’t see if there were any more bits of gravel in Eddie’s knee. “Can you walk really still next to Eddie on your way into the living room, and let him lean on you if he needs it? I’ll make you some dinner and you can have it on TV trays.”

Richie nods, but Eddie’s frowning. He can do this himself. The living room is just two rooms over, it isn’t far at all. He can definitely make it on his own. 

Mrs Tozier catches his expression. “It isn’t that you can’t do it on your own, Eddie,” she says. “Think of it like dancing. You’ve seen those dancing competitions on television when you’ve been over at the Denbroughs’? Think of it like that, shadowing and supporting, never doing it for your partner, just making sure you’re never too far away that you can’t help if they need it.”

Eddie thinks it over. Richie’s vibrating with energy at his side. The afternoon’s cartoons are already starting, and he would like to stop standing on his sore knee as soon as possible. Shadowing. Stan already says he and Richie are like each other’s shadows. He maybe even growled at him for it, the other day. But it makes a certain kind of sense. If he and Richie shadow each other, then they never have to be too far apart, and who wants to be far away from their best friend anyway? 

He nods. “Yeah, okay.”

Of course, Richie makes a big deal out of it, making sounds Eddie thinks are supposed to be like the dance numbers Mrs Denbrough watches, but in Richie’s case end up sounding like chants they can hear from the crowd at the baseball games they watch with Mr Tozier. He spins around Eddie, not the really still of Mrs Tozier’s instructions at all. But they make it to the couch in time to catch the end of  _ Inspector Gadget _ , and Richie lets Eddie have the good cuddling cushion because of his knee, and tomorrow morning before he has to go home he might even get to race Richie down the big hill again, so the afternoon’s not a total right off. 

  
  
  


They’re sprawled out across Ben’s living room, the snacks Mrs Hanscom provided almost thoroughly decimated. Stan’s on the armchair, curled in a tight Stanley-knot, legs pretzeled and with his own personal bowl of popcorn held tight to his chest. Mike is sitting at his feet, dozing through their third movie. Fair, seeing as they’ve seen it half a dozen times and he was up at dawn to work on the farm, which is the only reason Eddie’s held himself back from throwing snacks into the wide open O of his mouth. 

It’s bucketing down outside. They have The Addams Family on nearly full blast because Arlene Hanscom uses ear plugs to sleep and doesn’t have unbreakable rules about volume control, but it’s still not enough to mask the steady downpour. It’s been nearly four years and Eddie doesn’t think Bill will ever be able to make it through a storm without sitting at a window, watching the gutters fill. Waiting. They all saw the yellow raincoat down in the sewers, but Bill will never stop waiting. Fortunately, with Bev curled around him on one side, and Ben to sink into on the other, Bill is bracketed in securely and Eddie can focus on the task at hand. 

He and Richie are lying on the floor in front of the TV. Richie’s on his stomach, propped up on his elbows so he can alternate between watching the movie and turning to make faces at Bev and Stan. Eddie’s flopped over onto his back watching the screen upside down. This way it’s slightly different from every other time they’ve watched it. He’s a little restless after being cooped up inside all day, and he’s almost ready to start jabbing Richie in the ribs where his t-shirt has started to ride up just so something interesting will happen. 

He contents himself with rolling back onto his stomach with enough momentum to knock shoulders with Richie, who lets out a huff, glancing at Eddie out of the corner of his eye before quickly looking back at the screen. The fact that he is keeping his pout internal right now is a testament to his strength and resolve. He deserves a medal. 

On screen Morticia tells Wednesday to play with her food. Beside him, Richie fiddles with the cuffs of his hoodie.  _ Look at me _ , Eddie thinks, and then rolls his eyes at himself. What is he, thirteen? He can go a whole movie without talking to his best friend. He has that ability, he’s almost completely sure. 

Instead of trying to hone that skill, Eddie kicks out with his foot, but Richie’s too fast. He has too many hours of practice dodging and weaving. He probably knows Eddie too well, too. They’ve been attached at the hip since before they could walk, if the photos Maggie pulled out at Richie’s birthday last week are anything to go by. He bends his knees until his feet almost touch his back. Flexible asshole. But Eddie has more than a few tricks up his own sleeve. While Richie insists on watching the Addams family plan a party for the millionth time, Eddie scoots closer, bends his own legs and hooks his ankle around Richie’s. 

Richie’s entire body, usually alive with at least a background hum of movement, goes completely still. Eddie’s almost concerned he’s stopped breathing. He watches as Richie’s whole body seems to come back to life, bit by bit. First he bites his lip, looks out of the corner of his eye, shakes his head like Mr Chips fresh from a bath. Then he jostles their legs, trying to hit Eddie’s ankle bone without hurting his own. Eddie jostles back, and the voice in the back of his head that’s been screaming  _ look at me, talk to me, pay attention to me _ for the last half hour, quiets down. 

“Eds,” Richie whispers out of the corner of his mouth. The rain and the movie are loud enough Eddie can barely hear him. “I’m trying to watch the movie, man.”

Eddie sighs. Their socks have slipped in the tussle, and all he can focus on is the warmth of the tiny sliver of Richie’s skin against his own. 

He should probably move his foot. He doesn’t.

“We’ve seen this movie before. You know it by heart.” 

Bev throws a handful of dead popcorn kernels at the back of his head. Richie tugs on his ankle where they’re still hooked together. 

“True enough. Wanna see a rendition? I’ll do it for you like they do it on Broadway, Spagheds.” 

Eddie knocks their shoulders together, rolling his eyes, but he can’t help but notice the way Richie’s eyes brighten at the opportunity. And if Richie’s performing, pulling focus, maybe Eddie won’t feel like he needs to run around the block a hundred times. Maybe he just needs to watch something new. 

He should know better by now. 

Richie jumps to his feet, a mess of too long limbs and shaggy curls almost down to his shoulders, yanking Eddie up behind him. He tugs until they’re no longer in front of the TV, just in time to avoid Stan’s disappointed but not surprised, “the two of you aren’t made of glass, you know”. 

Richie gathers their hands to his chest, makes like he’s going to kiss their tangled fingers, and Eddie feels his face flush, but Richie just smacks his lips together with an exaggerated “mwah”. 

Eddie’s heart rate picks up, but he ignores it.  _ Nothing’s wrong, it’s just the shock of being pulled up so quickly, it’s adrenaline, you’re not dying _ . 

“Caro mio,” Richie says, in his best Gomez Voice, so much deeper than his own. “How long has it been since we’ve waltzed?”

He doesn’t wait to see if Eddie will respond with the right words, just sweeps him off his feet in an over the top approximation of Gomez and Mortiticia on screen. The music swells. Richie twirls them around. Eddie feels his heart shudder-stop in his chest when Richie looks down at him, cheesy grin stretched wide but with eyes so soft Eddie thinks he must be dreaming. Richie doesn’t look at him like that. Richie doesn’t look at anyone like that. Guard dropped, heart open.

On one rotation of the room, Richie shifts into a more dramatic tango, dipping Eddie until the back of his head brushes the carpet. Bev wolf whistles. Mike jolts awake in time to cheer them on.

By the time Richie brings them to a halt, Eddie helpless to do anything but follow his lead, the others are all laughing. Even Bill. As Richie takes a bow, flourishing his arms and thanking his audience, Eddie tells himself that’s why he wants to go again. A reprise to keep the smile on Bill’s face. Nothing more. 

He flexes the hand Richie had held so gently in his own. Shakes it out until it feels like his again. 

He flops back down on the floor, this time sitting up against the couch, shoulders caught between Bill’s knees. Instead of sitting down beside him, Richie drapes himself across Stan’s lap, too much limb for the armchair, he spills out of it like a rag doll. Eddie watches as Stan shuffles them around, dropping the bowl he’s been clutching for most of the evening onto the floor so he can use his hands to keep Richie from falling. Richie whispers something and Stan murmurs back, scratching his fingers through Richie’s curls until he goes limp and cooperative, and Eddie has to force himself to look away.

Fester is swallowing swords anyway, and that’s one of Eddie’s favourite parts. 

  
  
  


From the moment Eddie turns around in the Jade of the Orient to see Stanley Uris trying to wrestle a mallet out of Richie Tozier’s hands, he feels his life spin out of his own tight control and back into its natural orbit. All seven of them were flung out to lonely corners of space and suddenly find themselves back in their own little solar system, gravitationally bound. 

_ There’s never been anything like this _ , he thinks,  _ not for me, not for any of us, not for all these years.  _

He can’t find words that don’t make him sound like a complete sap though, so he keeps the thought to himself, orders a glass of wine and trips back into old habits. Snapping and goading and laughing and  _ feeling _ . Reaching out and touching, it’s something he’d forgotten he could do. 

But then there’s the fucking clown. Nothing was ever easy in this town. Nothing except the seven of them, together. 

Eddie still doesn’t want to go down there. It’s too much, it’s too quick, he can only have one Earth shattering revelation at a time and he already left his wedding ring back at the Inn after he called Myra to blurt out “I’m gay”. Coming face to face with the demon clown that’s been haunting his nightmares since he left Derry is not something he’s ready for, fucking sue him.

“If you let me go down there, I’m going to get us all killed.” He pulls the inhaler out of his pocket. If he doesn’t go down, he doesn’t need it for the ritual and he can use it here, now. Logic. 

“Hey, hey, give me that,” Richie tries to wrestle it out of Eddie’s hands. He gets up in Eddie’s space, crowds him in a way that feels less like looming and more like every single day Eddie spent growing up in this town. Eddie moves backwards, Richie moves with him. As familiar as breathing. 

“Listen to me. You had a moment, fine. But who killed a psychotic clown before he was fourteen?”

He hates this. Hates feeling seen, exposed. He knows already that he won’t be able to dispute anything Richie says. Richie always had a way of twisting words until Eddie was forced to agree with him. “Me.”

“Who stabbed Bowers with a knife he pulled out of his own face?”

“Also me.”

By the time Richie’s telling him he’s braver than he thinks, with a look on his face Eddie almost recognises, they are standing so close together it would take only the slightest twitch for them to be holding hands. 

_ You’re braver than you think _ . 

Eddie reaches out. Grabs on tight to Richie’s hand and laces their fingers together. Just that is enough to make him reach for his inhaler instinctively. 

“Eds.” Richie sounds broken open. 

He flings the flashlight at Ben, who shouts “hey” and even manages to sound properly annoyed, but it frees Richie’s right hand up, so Eddie’s not about to start bitching. Much.

“If you want me to go down there, losing a light source now is not the way to go about it, asshole.”

“Shut up,” Richie says, but he’s smiling. Mostly. It looks like kind of a painful smile actually, now that Eddie thinks about it. It’s hard to see in the half dark, but he thinks Richie might be shaking, a slight tremor through his whole body as he lifts his now free hand up to Eddie’s bandaged cheek. He doesn’t put any pressure on the wound, just let’s his hand ghost over it before settling on Eddie’s neck. 

“You’re braver than you think,” he whispers again. He leans down and brushes Eddie’s cheek with a kiss so light it almost tickles. Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. He stands still, waiting, as Richie slowly pulls back, eyes full of fear. Eddie thinks of days spent scrambling into hammocks together and sitting close enough on the couch to catch funny looks from Rabbi Uris and thinks he might understand a fraction of Richie’s fear. 

“You’re braver than you think.” This time, careful, oh so careful, Richie presses a kiss to the bandage on Eddie’s other cheek. 

_ Oh _ , Eddie thinks.  _ These words aren’t just for you. They’re for him too.  _

And just like that, Eddie makes another choice. He lets the anxiety fall from his shoulders. He lets the constant flickering  _ what ifs _ in his head fall silent. He stretches up on his toes and kisses Richie. He kisses Richie right on the mouth. It’s over before he can think about it, and he’s dropping back onto his heels, suddenly ready to go face the monster from their childhood. 

“You’re braver than you think, Rich,” he says, swaying forward one more time. Not to kiss him again, just to stand close, in his space. Just in case. 

Just in case. 

But no. They’re both coming out of this alive, or Eddie’s going to drag one of them back from the dead kicking and screaming. This doesn’t end here, in the dark. It doesn’t end before he gets back all the time he’s lost with interest. 

He squares his shoulders and pulls Richie towards the mouth of hell. Bev hands him a weapon, and they go kill the fucking clown. Again. 

  
  
  
  


They toe their shoes off at the front door, a bubble of quiet around them that they never quite managed to create growing up. It’s one of the differences that makes Eddie grateful for second chances. 

Richie slides across the floorboards in his socks, not as flamboyant as his dusting day figure skating, but theatrical enough to get a soft chuckle out of Eddie. He switches the lamp on in the living room. 

Soft voices, low lighting. The perfect end to their first real date if Eddie does say so himself. He might not know much about dating in general, but he likes to think he knows about dating Richie. He would have become an expert in it in high school if it weren’t for the everything about Derry. 

While Richie busies himself with the kettle—making tea because he knows Eddie won’t drink coffee this late and now he’ll join him in a herbal before bed—Eddie sets up the music on his phone. 

He hopes Richie remembers. It was one of those nights that stuck in his head, stayed around even after Derry if the way he went warm at any mention of Gomez and Morticia was anything to go by. He presses play, and glides across the floor, pulling Richie’s attention away from the mugs he’s just pulled out of the cupboard. 

He feels completely ridiculous. But this is Richie. If there’s anyone in the world who will appreciate Eddie at his most ridiculous, it’s Richie. 

“Rich,” he says, voice dropping to something vaguely resembling Gomez’s. He takes Richie’s hands, bends to press a kiss to his knuckles. “Caro mio. How long has it been since we’ve waltzed?” 

Richie’s always been a crier—sad movies, arguments, Bill surprising him with a well timed “you’re my best friend”—so Eddie is prepared for it when his breath catches in his throat and his eyes start to glisten. 

He whispers, “oh fuck”, then gathers himself enough to clear his throat and answer: “oh Eddie. Hours.”

Eddie grins. Beams, really. Feels like he could light the room on his own, if need be. 

They shuffle quietly into the living room, hand in hand. 

Eddie pulls Richie in until they’re pressed chest to chest, one of Richie’s hands in his, the other on his shoulder. They don’t do anything fancy. Neither of them ever really knew how, and now there’s no audience to perform for it doesn’t seem necessary. They just rotate in time with the music, Richie occasionally leaning down to press their foreheads together. 

“I love you, Rich,” Eddie says, lips brushing the underside of Richie’s chin. “I can’t believe I found you again.”

Richie doesn’t say anything. Eddie doesn’t need him to. He does rearrange them slightly though, so he can kiss Eddie properly, and Eddie will allow a pause in the dancing for this, for the warmth of Richie’s mouth on his. They have the rest of the night to dance, the rest of their lives if Richie says yes to the next impossible question Eddie asks him. He’s going to make Richie dance with him in front of all their friends and family one day. 

For now though, for now he just kisses Richie back with everything he’s got. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this, come find me on twitter @swordbev where i talk endlessly about all of these characters


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